Over the last year or so, I’ve noticed something weird about the house. Very weird. Every once in a while, in the middle of the day, the house shudders. The whole house. You can feel it more downstairs than up. The first few times it happened, I dashed to the basement to see if the furnace had just died or if the washing machine had attacked the dryer. Nothing was out of place, nothing looked out of the ordinary. Then I started to wonder if it was an earthquake. We did have an itty bitty one not that long ago. But it had happened at least half a dozen times – wouldn’t there be something in the news about half a dozen earthquakes? Then I started to worry about crazy things, like sinkholes. Invasions of mole people burrowing up from under the foundation. Being stalked by bio-engineered Tyrannosaurus Rexes. Tyrannosaurus Rex. Tyrannosauruses. Tyrannosauri. It’s like the glass of water in the movie, only with a bigger thud. Earlier this week, I realized the house shudder thing has never happened on a weekend. Only on weekdays. And, except for this week, I’m rarely home on weekdays. This week, I noticed that it has happened around 11:30am each day. I mentioned the weekday thing to John yesterday or the day before, wondering if maybe it happens every day during the week, and he had a brilliant thought. We live not far from a quarry. Things explode at quarries. Maybe that’s what we’re feeling. And they’re only open on weekdays… I put “call the quarry” on my to-do list. So today, I was working from home, 11:30 rolled around, and a few minutes later, the house shook. I picked up the phone and called. “Do you make things explode at 11:30 every weekday?” “Well, it’s not always exactly 11:30, but…yeah.” “Thank you. That makes me very happy.” Mystery solved!
Note to self: if we’re ever in a position where we can sell the house, make sure potential buyers leave before 11am or show up after noon. It’s like that scene in Mary Poppins, only not as entertaining. “Posts, everyone!”